Sensing a faint but unmistakable killing intent, Jake opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish and stammered.
“P-please… sp-spare… my—”
“Precious… people, you say.”
That low-pitched mutter sent goosebumps racing over his skin.
Drat. Looks like I touched something I shouldn’t have.
He wanted to turn tail and try again another day, but a hero couldn’t afford to lose face.
No one must know he had quailed before a simple farmer.
Jake puffed out his chest as if nothing were wrong and proclaimed boldly,
“N-no one would fault me for cutting you in half here and now. Yet I am merciful: I’ll settle this insult for just one arm. Or—one last chance. Will you come with me?”
To underscore the threat, he drew the sword at his waist.
It was only a stand-in until he reclaimed the Hero’s Sword, but it was still a fine heirloom blade.
Xion gazed down at the weapon, his expression dark.
Clearly, he was frightened.
Rightly so: no matter how strong or brave a farmer is, seeing a sword that could kill with a single graze for the first time must be terrifying.
Thinking he had the upper hand, Jake even swung the blade through the air with extra swagger.
“If you cannot decide, allow me to—urk!”
The moment Jake swung, Xion moved.
Jake hadn’t expected it.
N-no…!
Of all things, Xion stepped right into the sword’s path.
If this went on, Jake would cut him down by accident.
He’d only meant to scare him. Slaughtering an innocent villager while scouting a promising servant would be a disaster.
In a tight-knit village, even a hero might be driven out for that.
Stop, now!
Bracing for torn muscles, Jake tried to wrench the blade aside.
But before he even managed, a dull thud rang out and a bone-deep shock rocked his body.
THWUMP!
“Guh-ugh!”
The next instant, Jake lay sprawled on the ground in a disgraceful heap.
He had no idea what had just happened.
W-what in the world…?
While he was still reeling, Xion hefted the burlap sack he’d been carrying and strode right past him, heading for his original destination, the butcher’s shop.
❖ ❖ ❖
“…Uh-uh…?”
“Wow, how embarrassing.”
Elijah, who had watched from a step away, clapped his hands and walked over.
Jake, still gathering himself, blurted out,
“What on earth just happened?”
“You fell without even knowing? That farmer’s pretty impressive.”
“Explain, Elijah—now.”
Elijah shrugged.
“First you swung your sword, just to threaten him, no doubt. The farmer slipped inside your guard—”
“I saw that part.”
“Then he swung the sack he was carrying.”
“What? So I was hit by the sack and collapsed?”
“Not exactly. Your sword stuck straight into the sack. It didn’t slice it, just stabbed in. Could be luck, but it looked to me like he timed it perfectly and jammed the sack onto your blade.”
“Spare the speculation. Facts only.”
“Then he swung the sack—sword and all—straight down. Your weight pitched forward, your legs tangled, and you toppled.”
“Which means…”
The color drained from Jake’s face.
One farmer’s single defensive move had tripped him over his own feet.
How mortifying!
“Jake, your face is about to burst.”
His pallor turned scarlet in a flash. Struggling to contain his fury, he barked,
“Elijah, today’s events go with us to the grave.”
“Sure. When you die, I’ll carve them prettily on your headstone.”
“I didn’t mean advertise on my tomb! Keep it absolutely a secret! Only you and me!”
“Make that you, me, and the farmer. Only three people know.”
“Heh. In that case…”
“Going to silence him by killing him?”
“As if a future noble would do something so barbaric. Killing an innocent commoner? Nonsense. Naturally, I’ll recruit him. Keep him close, he won’t dare speak.”
“Oh?”
Elijah was secretly impressed. Rotten mackerel is still a mackerel, after all. Fool he might be, Jake still clung to a hero’s code.
“Someone like him would be a great asset. He doesn’t seem in the mood today, so I’ll withdraw for now, but next time I will recruit him without fail.”
“Took that humiliation and still won’t quit. Remarkably persistent.”
“Perseverance is a hero’s virtue.”
“No, clinginess is just annoying.”
“…First I must find the Hero’s Sword, then we’ll see.”
Acting as though nothing had happened, as though he’d never been slammed into the dirt by a strong-armed farmer, Jake marched off with head held high.
❖ ❖ ❖
While Xion embarked on his long, arduous quest to procure pork, Reinhild lay on the bed reading the book he had left.
Xion always brought him books when he asked, but there were too few of them, and their taste was terrible.
Most were pink-tinged romance tales beloved by young noble ladies shut away in castles.
Love.
A foolish emotion humans believed in.
Reinhild preferred definite feelings like sorrow or pain over vague ones such as love.
When sad, you cry.
When hurt, you scream.
If it’s funny, you laugh; if happy, you smile.
But what of “love”?
The protagonists in those books cried, laughed, smiled, and even shrieked, all under the banner of love.
Moderation, please. Mixing so many emotions is a mess.
[“I love you, Hannah,” Joseph’s tears fell.]
Look at that.
Love was supposed to be happy, yet they were crying.
[Yet his mouth was smiling.]
Tears in his eyes, a smile on his lips.
Doesn’t that mean he can’t tell whether he’s sad or glad?
Stupid humans.
He’d read so many books, yet none depicted love properly.
Could Xion truly like books that worship this nonexistent emotion?
Ah, Rebecca had actually procured them all.
Perhaps her taste, then.
Reinhild felt a tiny bit relieved.
“Humans are complicated.”
A race that lives scarcely seventy years, it’s no wonder they lack time to define emotions properly.
Resolved to study humans further, he turned the page.
[When Joseph took her hand, Hannah’s chest trembled.]
“Hmm.”
A body part trembling means a sudden temperature drop or fear.
Clearly, Hannah feared Joseph.
[It was love.]
Again, again.
Look at that. Slapping love onto anything and everything.
Humans have no backbone.
“This book won’t do.”
If the author were alive, he’d hunt them down and unleash killing intent. And then ask, as they trembled, “Is this what you humans call love?”
“Isn’t there anything interesting… oh!”
From the towering stack, Reinhild drew a blue-covered book.
His mood brightened. Surely, this is the emotion called “expectation.”
Humans would probably lump that in with love, too.
“Let’s see.”
Bingo.
On the surface it looked like a fantasy of a hero’s adventures, but inside it was a profound treatise on the hero’s very purpose.
A book stripped of petty emotions, discussing only facts and theory. It was Reinhild’s favorite kind.
Humming, he opened the first page.
[Swordmaster. A modest goal for a single boy.]
[Yet five hundred years ago, becoming a Swordmaster was astonishingly difficult.]
[How, then, could humanity have changed so much over the past five hundred years?]
“Oh.”
A jackpot beyond expectation.
The book analyzed the duel between the Demon King and the Hero five centuries ago and how it spurred humanity’s progress.
And of course, that Demon King was Reinhild himself.
It traced humanity’s path from his supposed death to the present.
[After the Demon King was vanquished five hundred years ago, humanity advanced by leaps and bounds.]
“Yes, yes.”
With no one watching, Reinhild nodded enthusiastically.
He had suffered most from mankind’s sudden rise in strength.
Perhaps the book contained the reason.
If so, might he not find a way to weaken them again?
Heart pounding, he turned the next page.
The reason for humanity’s newfound strength was written there in bold though it was not what he’d expected.
[The reason is that the Demon King disappeared.]
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